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starry-bi-sky · 5 months

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There are two things that Damian knows that he knows Father doesn’t.

He has an older brother

He was dead

(And a secret third thing: Damian was glad he was dead. They did not get along.)

Well. No, correction, they were two things that Damian knew that Father didn't. Past tense. Strange magic swirled through the air and created a mirage before his eyes, and immediately a scowl forms across his face.

The mirage shifts and shimmers like the light hitting a slowly turning prism, and then it settles into a memory. One that Damian does not recall. Like looking into a tv screen, it shows, faintly, a room, with most of the magic going into the image of a crib.

His mother was standing on one side, and next to her, standing on his tiptoes was a small five year old boy looking up at her. With dark hair and skin that was only few shades lighter brown than Damian's, the little boy's resemblance to Damian was undeniable.

However, his eyes were blue. Not green. Damian's scowl deepens, and he sinks back. "Danyal." He mutters, and feels eyes turn on to him.

Danyal Al Ghul. Damian's older brother. A prodigal swordsman like Damian, and five years his senior. He'd be fifteen if he was still alive. His memory of the last time he saw his brother was still clear in his mind.

(A sword to Danyal's neck. Stars were glittering through his window. Damian was five, Danyal ten. He is not sure why Danyal had snuck into his room, all he remembers is hearing a sound and on instinct reaching for his sword.)

(His brother had intercepted easily. But had not shoved the sword away. Moonlight hit his blue eyes, and Damian remembers seeing the pupils shrink to let the light in. His eyes looked almost silver.)

(His brother bares his teeth at him. Damian wants to slice his neck more than anything, and he bares his teeth back. "Good." Danyal says, his voice low in a hiss, "Your reflexes are good, little brother.")

("Of course they are," Damian remembers snarling, and presses the sword closer. But it does not budge. "I am an Al Ghul.")

(Something unrecognizable passes through his brother's eyes, and his mouth twists into something like a smile. "I know." He says, and tilts his head downwards at him. "And you will be great.")

(His brother shoves the sword back, causing Damian to stumble. And like the wind, he is gone.)

(The next morning, he goes on a mission with mother and a few others. Mother is the only one to return with Danyal's sword, and a red-eyed look in her eyes. Damian does not mourn. Now there's only one of them.)

"Momma." The little Danyal-mirage speaks, a furrow between his childlike brows as mother lowers a bundle into the crib. His blue eyes watch her, and lifts onto his toes to peer into the crib as she sets the baby down. "Who is this?"

Their mother's hand comes to rest along his back. "This is Damian, my son." She murmurs, voice low. "He is your little brother. Protect him well."

Damian scoffs internally -- not likely. He remembers every spar he ever had with Danyal, every harsh word and insult. His pushing, pushing, pushing for Damian to get up. To try again. Do it again. The only kindness he ever showed him was when his fingers bled. And even that was harsh, firm. Rolling gauze around his wrist and scolding him, telling him how to wield his weapon better.

(It was the same as everyone else, but somehow it hurt worse coming from his own brother.)

But he watches his older brother's youngest self tilt his head to the side, and then reach his chubby hand through the crib's bars. He runs small, blunt fingers over the baby's arm, and the baby jerks. Through the crib's bars, Damian sees himself grab Danyal's fingers.

And he scowls even deeper.

And Danyal's eyes... widen. He lets out a little gasp, and a small smile Damian's never seen him wear tilts at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at their mother. "Mother," he whispers, "he grabbed me!"

Damian... his scowl falters, for a moment.

He doesn't wait for a response, he looks back to the baby with sparking eyes. His expression melts like sugar as he bounces the finger being gripped tight by the small hand. "Hello, little brother." His brother says, voice its of usual firmness, but there's more fondness underlying it than Damian's ever heard. "My name is Danyal."

The mirage shifts before Damian can comprehend his older brother's voice. It shows the crib again, appearing as if a few days had passed. There is night lilting through the nearby window, and a creek of the door. The baby doesn't stir.

Danyal sneaks in, still wearing his training clothes and a sword strapped to his side. Damian's scowl returns, watching him creep over to the crib. Of course -- the last night he saw his brother wasn't the only time he'd snuck into his room.

Would he go so low as to attack an infant? Damian wonders, watching his brother cross the room to his crib. But while his fingers rest against the hilt, they never curl to unsheathe.

His brother peers into the crib again, and there it is again, that smile wider in the corner of his mouth. It's not a full one, but its as uninhibited as it gets. Dripping honey-sweet with awe. "You are so tiny." Danyal whispers, and pokes a finger back through the crib. It wriggles, then pokes Damian's cheek gently. "Was I as small as you when mother gave birth to me?"

There is no response from the baby. Not a coherent one anyways, the little thing snuffles and turns his head, mouth open to latch. Danyal stills, his eyes grow ever wider again.

Danyal says nothing else, just rests his cheek against the crib and watches the baby sleep in silence. The affection never leaves his young face.

Damian feels unsettled. Off-foot. This Danyal is foreign to him... He wonders what happened to have changed his brother's mind on him.

There's a scuffle, quiet, but there. Danyal picks up on it just as Damian does, and his head pricks up like a deer, head already turning away from the crib. The affection leaves his face, falling away like water into something serious. His blade is already slightly unsheathed.

Two assassins, belonging to grandfather, burst out of the shadows. Their swords swinging into the air and ready to strike.

Danyal kills them both, his back to the crib. It's not without struggle, and when the two assassins lay dead on the floor, the baby is wailing at the top of his lungs. Danyal has a laceration cleaving down diagonal of his cheek. It's close to his eye, just barely missed blinding him.

Damian never knew how he got that scar. He does now. (He doesn't know how to feel about it.)

His brother clutches his bleeding face, sheathing his sword as tears well up onto his face. But he turns towards the crib, and hurries over. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay." He hushes rapidly, the League-drilled seriousness fallen away to reveal a panic-stricken five year old. He sticks one hand into the crib, the one not clutching anything, and grabs little Damian's hand.

Their mother comes bursting in that moment, and Danyal turns his head towards her. "Mother." He says, his voice cracks un-wantingly. Their mother steps over the bodies of the assassins easily. "They tried to kill Damian."

"But they did not." Talias says, kneeling down next to the crib to inspect Danyal's face and Damian's well-being. When she finds nothing of concern beyond the injury, she continues. "You killed them before they could, Danyal. Well done."

The mirage of his brother nods, his eyes teary and red.

Damian... is discomfited. he never thought Danyal would kill assassins for him. He would have thought his brother would sooner look the other way. The mirage shifts again, and it quickly shows time passing.

Danyal sits in Damian's nursery every night, after that. He lays at the foot of the crib with his sword, a pillow and a blanket with him. Some nights there is nothing but peace -- or as close to peace as a baby could achieve -- and some days assassins break in.

Danyal kills each one.

The mirage shifts again, and it shows more memories of Danyal interacting with Damian during his youth too young for him to remember. His first steps, his first words.

"Danya." The small toddler of Damian says, arms reaching for Danyal.

A frown curls across Danyal's face, and pulls Damian into his lap. "No, no, little brother." He scolds, voice firm but.. softer. "It is Danyal, Damian. Danyal."

"Danya!"

Damian's brother sighs, but there is that same-small tilt at the corner of his mouth. A glimmer in his eyes. A glimmer... that Damian is finding he recognizes.

(He always thought his brother got that look in his eyes when he was mocking him. Was he wrong?)

The mirage shifts again, and this time it shows only mother and Danyal, alone. Danyal is older, taller. Seven, if Damian had to guess. Mother has a stern look on her face, her hands tight on his shoulders. "Damian will be starting training soon, my son."

Ah, then close to eight then. Training starts, always, at three years old. He watches Danyal nod, his expression mimicking their mother's. His arms are folded, always folded, behind his back, always neat.

"You can no longer have the relationship with your brother as you did before." Mother says.

Danyal's expression... falters. It shifts, it fluctuates. He looks surprised, thrown off. Like he isn't quite sure he heard what mother just said. His brows furrow. "What... do you mean, mother?"

"I mean what I said, Danyal." Mother says, stern, "Ra's will be keeping a closer eye on Damian now that he is of age to begin his training. He will not like if he sees you both getting along."

"I am sorry, my child. But your relationship with Damian ends here. You are rivals now, not brothers." In a cruel form a gentleness, mother raises her hand and tucks a stray curl out of Danyal's face.

Of course. Damian never had a relationship with his brother because of Grandfather. Of course. No, he's not feeling a little bitter. No. There's not an inner child that still, like a candleflame, wishes that he'd had a bond with his only flesh and blood.

Danyal is dead now. So it's not like it matters. He's happy about this.

Danyal frowns, and he steps back. He looks lost in thought. "We are still brothers, mother," he says, argues, and looks up to meet mother's eyes. "Let me train him, I will make sure he gets the skill he needs. If we must be rivals, then I will teach him how to defeat me. If he can defeat me, he can defeat anybody."

Their mother, and Damian, both blink in unison. Then mother smiles something sharp, calculated. She folds her hands behind her back. "Then do it. But you will make him hate you."

"...So be it."

Damian.... Damian is silent. His world axis has been tilted on its head. He is sliding, and sliding, and sliding down. Spinning. Many things click into place at once.

More memories from the mirage show. It shows Danyal training Damian. It shows their arguing, their bickering. It shows Danyal going to their mother to praise Damian and his skills, how fast he is picking up on the sword. How one day he will surpass even him.

It shows Danyal sitting outside Damian's bedroom door every night, listening in for anyone who dares to break in. His knees drawn to his chest, his sword at his side. Sometimes he sneaks in, sword drawn, when he hears a sound.

Some nights, Damian wakes up. He remembers those nights. Danyal standing over his bed with his sword unsheathed and tight at his side. He remembers the instant terror as he immediately reached for his own weapon.

His brother always scolded him for his lack of vigilance. That had he been anyone else, Damian would have had his neck cut. He would've been dead already. It only made Damian's hatred of him grow.

But he understands now. Because there were assassins in the room that Damian, four years old, three, did not notice. Not until later. He always assumed the attacks on him after Danyal's death had been because now there was a new heir to target.

It had been the only lesson he'd been even somewhat grateful for.

Then finally the mirage shimmers, and it shows Danyal, ten years old, in one of the training rooms, mid-spar with Mother. It's fast, sharp, impressive and like a blur. Damian is unsure if at ten which one of them was the better swordsman. Some of the assassins who have never met Danyal said Damian was, but the ones who had said it was Danyal. He'll never know.

In a lull in the fight, when their swords are crossed, mother speaks. "Ra's wants you and Damian to fight." She says, teeth grit into a deep scowl. The cross breaks and Danyal jumps back, he frowns.

"We have fought, mother." He says, and dives in first, swinging for mother's feet. Mother dodges, and slices at his arm. He swerves out of the way, twisting on his feet like a dance. "We are always fighting, doesn't he see our spars?"

"Not a spar like that, my son." Mother says, a snarl in her voice. She lunges, and Danyal blocks her blade. "A fight to the death. Father has grown tired of having two heirs."

That gets Danyal's attention -- or, more accurately, it distracts it. His eyes widen, and his sword lowers for a single moment. A mistake. "What?" Is all he gets out before mother has him on his back, her blade pressed to his throat.

He freezes. As does Damian. Danyal's brows furrow, then unfurrow, only to knot up again. "Mother, what do you mean a fight to the death?" He flips to his feet when mother removes the sword. She walks over to grab her water.

"Must I repeat myself, Danyal?" Mother snaps, rubbing her forehead before swigging from her canteen. "Father wants to find out which one of you is the stronger heir, and so you will fight to the death after your training in a few days."

Danyal's tan face loses a shade of color, he looks ashy. "There must be some mistake!" He exclaims, his arms gesturing out as he peers around mother. "There is a five year disparity between us, Damian has only just started training two years ago. It would be an unfair fight!"

"Do you think me unaware?" Mother whirls on him, and there is a grief-stricken look on her face. Like she is already mourning Damian's death. Damian feels ill. "Your skill is far beyond what Damian can accomplish right now, and there is nothing that I say that can convince Father otherwise."

Danyal wears an expression like he is scrambling for answers. A white knuckle grip on his weapon. There is a long silence, and his lower lip curls up. His throat bobs, he swallows. "Is there really nothing we can do?"

Mother makes a frustrated sound, pushing her loose hairs out of her face. "Not unless Father changes his mind, or I send one of you away. But Father would surely send someone to look for you or Damian."

"What if one of us faked our death?"

Mother stills. As does Damian. No, he thinks, stiff as a rod, no way. These mirages were lying, nothing but figments of an imagination. Of some quiet what-if that Damian had not yet stomped out.

Mother's expression shifts, and then turns contemplative. Danyal notices, and keeps pushing, he looks as hopeful as he could get beyond his usual unwavering, stone-like expression. "One of us could go to father--"

"No." Mother cuts off, voice sharp. Danyal wilts, confusion flittering across his face. Damian, from the corner of his eye, sees Father tense as stone. His white-slit eyes have not left the mirage. Nobody's has.

"Father will undoubtedly check there first, it would not be a good idea. You or Damian will have to go somewhere where he would not think to look. Someone unaffiliated with the League."

Danyal's face falls, shutters, and then closes up again into stone. Mother begins to pace, and Danyal's blue eyes follow her. "So a stranger?" He asks, and there is disgust lilting into his voice.

Mother nods, and she looks just as offput as Danyal.

The mirage of Damian's brother rolls his shoulders back. "Then I will do it, mother." He says, voice unwavering. There is a stubborn note behind it all, one that Damian recognizes. "I will fake my death, and Damian will stay here."

Mother's eyes turn sharp on him, and she stops in her spot. She pivots. "Are you sure?" She asks, eyebrow raising, "There is a chance you will never meet your Father if you leave. Nor will you see I or Damian again, if you do this."

Something like fear flickers across Danyal's face, eyes widening momentarily -- as if that very thought had not crossed his mind. But then it smooths over to sharp determination. He nods. "It would be the same for Damian if it was him instead. I will do it, Mother."

Damian feels ill again. Father has a strong set in his jaw, his teeth grinding.

Mother stares at Danyal, and then her expression softens. And like before, it is grieving. "In a few days time, I and another member of the League will be going on a mission to the American States. I will tell Father that you will accompany me, once there we will dispose of the other member and then orchestrate your death."

The American States. Danyal was here, in the country. He was out there somewhere -- but no this was fake. It had to be. Danyal was dead. A fool who got himself killed on a mission with mother and left the title of Heir to Damian.

Or maybe it had been his plan all along. His and mother's both.

...Was mother ever going to tell him?

The mirage of Danyal nods, sharp. Understanding. There is a gleam in his eyes that is not pride, it is tears. And when Mother leaves the room and leaves him alone, the stone-like expression on his face crumbles and falls.

His brother, ten years old, curls up his lip in an ugly way. It wobbles as the tears in his eyes do, and he brings up his hand to slam it over his mouth. And sinks to his knees, a yell-like sob muffled behind the skin.

His brother, ten years old, looks smaller than Damian remembers him being, and cries.

Damian has never seen Danyal cry. Not once in the mirage of memories, nor in his own.

The memory holds for a minute, and then disappears. And no new one shows up. The magic is gone, and it leaves a silence in its wake. Heavy, staticky, and full of revelations.

So there are two things that Damian knows that his Father now knows too.

He has an older brother

His older brother is alive.

(And a new secret third thing: Damian wasn't sure how to feel about it.)

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc prompt #i promise this is a prompt #it just got very long #danyal al ghul au #my take on a danyal al ghul au #older brother danny #dpdc #dpxdc crossover #i know the usual gist is that danyal al ghul is a better knife thrower than he is a swordsman but hey #consider: phantom has a sword when he fights ghosts. how sick is that?#his ghost form having allusions to the LoA. its not obvious but its there #did i make danny brown skinned? yeah. because him being white or not is irrelevant to me and i wanted to make him darker skinned #thinking about the angst of bruce seeing his firstborn son going “i could stay with father!” and then said child being visibly crushed #when told no. and that he may never see his father ever. actually. if he fakes his death. and still doing it anyways for damian's sake #danny loves his little brother he just shows it in an unorthodox way. some of it is not his fault #also danny being an absolute grump in amity park is very funny to me. he's an arrogant little assassin child in AP who is only here for #his little brother's sake and safety. he loves his brother but that doesnt stop him from being an arrogant little brat #gremlin assassin child danny is so funny #i know this is very ironic for me to post after posting my thoughts on danyal al ghul aus and their missed potential #but actually this prompt is what spurred that post into creation in the first place actually.#because i was thinking about this au and then went “oh hey you know whats funny--” and then i #thought about it too much to the point where i had to make a post talking about it #tried to find a balance between danny being mature for his age and also still being a kid #like yeah he’s a trained assassin and has killed but also he’s a 10yo boy about to be separated - Assumingly permanently- from his family

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strawberri-draws · 3 months

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"Innocence died screaming, Honey ask me, I should know. I slithered here from Eden; Just to sit outside your door"

-From Eden, Hozier

aka: au where they grow old in the dungeon together in their monster forms.

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tubbytarchia · 3 months

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Oh, I'll bow my head, I'll clip my wings I was never gonna make it anyway (x)

#haha whats this doing here I dont remember drawing this #jimmy solidarity #jimmy solidarity fanart #trafficblr #thank you to the person who introduced me to this song among others in the Jimmy brainrot #you know who you are #it was Bree #tubby art #Im not going to expand on ideas here lol but fuck yeah Jimmy clipped wing symbolism #sorry to anyone whos annoyed by the constant canary theme etc but dude its way too good symbolism and imagery sorry #I dont make the rules #this is why his character is so cool and compelling and makes me wanna rip my hair out #Jimmy is a very good and capable man. I hope the angst art etc doesnt make people think that I think otherwise #you can be cool and capable and still suffer baby!!!

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insignificant457 · 1 month

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There is a nebulous jordie lives au which lives entirely in my head in which jordie recovers from the plague while Kaz is still sick. He gets up to find them food and water only to return and discover Kaz is nowhere to be found. Still recovering from the fever, he searches the barrel for days before he finally sees Kaz wandering down the staves in a sort of fugue state, soaked to the bone with a haunted look in his eyes.

Kaz won’t tell him what happened, but jordie knows it’s bad because his baby brother flinches every time he touches him, and soon enough he’s started wearing gloves, even in the height of summer.

Soon, they discover kazs gift for cards, and it keeps them fed and clothed, if not much else. Kaz is angry at jordie for losing the money, refuses to let him make any decisions. Jordie is beholden to his angry traumatized little brother because he can’t deny that he failed them the first time around.

Kaz is offered a place in his pick of the gangs, but the only one willing to take both him and his tag along older brother is the dregs. Jordie dies a little bit inside when they join up, when they take the tattoo side by side, but he’s not sure they’ll survive another winter on the streets.

And the plot of SoC generally goes on from there. Jordie tags along on the ice court, he and Jesper test kazs patience at every turn, he’s constantly offering unsolicited annoying older brother advice about Inej.

This lends itself to a really interesting exploration of Kaz and jordies relationship, what holds brothers together in the face of incredible trauma, the skewed power dynamic of Kaz becoming the breadwinner for them both at the age of nine, etc etc. But mostly, this au is a vessel for the sailing of the ultimate crack ship, which is of course, jordie/alys Van Eck.

#grishaverse #six of crows #jordie rietveld #kaz brekker #sorry. but I must speak my truth.#idk I’m hugely compelled by the idea of barrel boy jordie and sheltered housewife alys falling madly in love.#Kaz is trying to scheme them out of this whole mess and jordies like hey. do you think it would be okay to kidnap her again. like morally.#it’s just that I’ve thought of some really good jokes that I think she’d like. and Kaz (who has had negative sleep) just glares at him #also Kaz becoming uncle Kaz to Van Ecks new heir? truly the comeuppance Van Eck deserves #also yeah obviously the kaz jordie angst of this au compels me but make no mistake. it’s about jordie/alys #again. sorry.

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dootznbootz · 5 months

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Menelaus rambles a lot about not only Helen, but also Hermione. About how she used to say Olive like "Olifs". How she lost her first tooth running too fast and running into a low branch while out with Helen. How he'd sometimes wake up to Hermione leaning over him and poking his face to say, "Dad, can we go see the horses?" even though it was barely daylight. How she was much nicer waking Helen and how he thinks Hermione did that on purpose because she found "dad's face funny". How her favorite color was every color.

And Odysseus listens.

And he thinks about how his son only had a few teeth coming in when he left, teething on everything. How he could only say one syllable with his babbles. How his son needed balance to stand but Odysseus was so proud that Telemachus was very good at rolling over. How his son loved pulling at his and Penelope's hair.

How his son would be talking, walking, maybe even lost his first tooth by now. And he doesn't even know if he'll ever know his son's favorite color.

#Hi get sad with me :D #Odysseus and Menelaus are the Bros™ to me. I love them. Both simps who love their family despite being different in personalities #You cannot tell me they didn't talk about this and how this was painful for both of them :')#To make myself feel better. I like the thought of Athena kind of keeping him up to date :'D as he's her pet you know?#okay so this next bit ain't angst but imagine Hermione just coming in staring in the dark with the classic:#“Mom. Dad. I frew up🥺”#scaring the shit outta both her poor parents. Yeah I know she had nurses with her most likely but it's cute and fun!!!#I'm sorry but that's so fucking funny to me. I think every Parent has experienced that I'm pretty sure.#odysseus #menelaus #tagamemnon #greek mythology #this'll probably flop but oh well xD My homies can get sad with me >:)#odyssey #the odyssey #telemachus #hermione #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #helen of sparta #penelope #odypen

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popponn · 6 months

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it was not quite like a rot.

it felt just as slow, however. you knew the early signs should have been there since some time ago, yet you missed them and ignored them. it was also similar in the way that it was similar to dying.

but, it really was different.

when you saw a rot, it felt unpleasant. it could be sadness, it might be disgust. in this tale, you didn't exactly feel like that. when you realized it, you barely felt recognition for it.

when you realized you fell out of love with him, you merely stared emptily at the photo in front of you.

it felt cruel. because somewhere inside you, you still believed that he deserved a gentle, tender moment in his life after everything. you still wish that he would know a kindness that he understood enough to soothe every bitter unhappiness that was left inside there. because he, you know more than anyone, had tried his best to be gentle, to be good for you.

you knew it in the way he etched your name on his tongue, in the way he had softened many rough parts of him just to see you smile, and yet—

as the clouds continued to move, unveiling the blue sky, you knew that your time as "his" had come to an end. that day was peaceful. the sky and the world continued to move.

the night came and you decided to put an end to a story. seven hundred and fifty two days had passed, calmly and almost coldly, you offered him a quiet smile.

"hey, can we talk for bit?"

SAE, RIN, BAROU, reo, kaiser, WANDERER, DILUC, LEONA, azul, RIDDLE, malleus, IDIA, ruggie + your faves.

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sygneth · 1 year

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You're an Empire

Darkest of Empires

(inspo song)

#this relationship is such a neverending source of sweet sweet toxic angst ahhhh #i love it #why are most of my jeanharry art blue and yellow well #jeanharry #harryjean #jean vicquemare #jean heron vicquemare #harry du bois #harry dubois #harrier du bois #disco elysium #disco elysium fanart #echoes scribbles #maybe???#actually yeah #yes i am often inspired by music why do you ask #i hate tumblr for making me split it :/#my art

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sideblogdotjpeg · 16 days

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so. admittedly these probably wont make a lot of sense out of context but ! anyway i came up with a little dream-walking au (?) and my good friend and cool guy @stone-stars wrote fics (MULTIPLE!!!) for it so. i made these little drawings!

edit: HERE IS THE FIC EVERYBODY READ IT RIGHT NOW

#posts by me dot com #naddpod #ba2mia #ba2umia #solum bufo #calder kilde #(sneakily putting it back in the main tag)#:) anyway han is so cool yall #and really awesome and nice #and uh. well i like to make rlly angst aus so. mmhmm #i truly dont know if this is at all coherent outside of context so. sorry ! but ... yeah!

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anonymouscheeses · 1 month

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I'm gonna be shitting and screaming and starting fights if Sera becomes a villain. I can't take sibling angst, Sera loves Emily I swear guys believe meeee.

#im making a fanfic of two and a half halos and the mc is Emily and it focuses alot on her and sera's dynamic #ill probablg send it here when im done. in 100 years because i havent finished a fic in 20 centuries #hazbin hotel sera #seraphim #hazbin sera #emily hazbin hotel #hazbin emily #hazbin hotel emily #emily seraphim #hazbin hotel #PLEASE DONT MENTION HAND PLACEMENF PLEASE /S #I WAS DRAWINF THIS AT 3 AM AND I KEPT BLACKINF OUT BUT I KNEW ID LOSE MOTIVATION IF I DIDNT FINISH #I DIDNT NOTICE UNTIL I WAS DONE SO PLS JST- IDK. JST LOOK AT MY BABIES #i headcanon Sera as trans. for pride month i have the idea of putting every ship and character under their pride flags #sooo sera is gonna be covered with a trans flag and emily... also trans becauze everyone is trans becauze o said so #charlie is ALSO trans because i said so #i came up wit trans sera on my own(idk if it existed be4 but i jst thot of it and got all happy cuz she is so trans idc) but #i freaking love trans emoly and trans charlie so for a bit i felt wrong for hc so many characters as trans #rhen i woke up one day and was loke. yeah idgaf they all trans cuz theres not enoigh #like im not gonna ALAAYS depict them as trans except sera(she is 100% trans to me) i like the other hcs for fun. im so srs for sera i 💜 her #sera just wants to hug her huggable sister sometimes and thats ok! 💜💜#art #fanart #artists on tumblr #digital art #*in stupid egg boy voice* i wish Sera would hold ME in her arms... 😔#gave them snouts because i cannot deal with the no noses. it genuinely disturbs me. have yall SEEN velvettes side profile omfg 😨#my babies... i just want them to be happy. why must there be sibling angst... they jst want to do whats right ☹️#im gonna fight to protect Sera from spme of yall fr fr cuz she do not deserve to be SO hated. JST. JST GET TO KNO HER I SWEAR SHE COOL #like i get it. what she doin is wrong. but if you was in her shoes you know you would do the same dont even lieeee 😨

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bylrndgm · 9 months

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SHAMELESS US ↳ S04E07 | a jailbird, invalid, martyr, cutter, retard, and parasitic twin | dir.: gary b. goldman.

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writingsbyzuzu · 18 days

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Don’t Get the Blues

Sheriff!Ted Nivison x Gunslinger!Outlaw!Reader

(Just a quick note before we begin, this chapter isn’t very you and Ted focused, this is an exposition chapter of sorts to set up what is going to happen in later parts. It focuses on Ted and it focuses on you still, just not the two of you together. Sorry if this one is short, I did rush a little to get this one out for y’all to read. the next one will be better and longer, trust)

one - endless song

“Doll, are you sure about this?” Schlatt raises an eyebrow at you, finger pointed down on the table. “Once we do this, there is no damn return. We sink into the abyss, together, the lot of us.”

You suck in a breath, your lips pursing. “Yes, Jay, I’m sure. We have to do this. We just have to be smart about it.” You instinctively adjust the gun positioned at your waistline. Schlatt shakes his head.

Around the table sits Ludwig, Charlie, Hasan, and Kurtis. This is your home, shared between the six of you. Sure, there are eyebrows raised at the thought of a young lady sharing her home with five eligible young men. But not many. No one really batted many eyes at what six poor orphans did, considering not many cared about what those who lived on the outskirts of Red Oakland did. But at this moment, those six orphans planned on robbing a rich man. Well, five of them, that is.

Hasan lets out a groan. “For the love of God, we have been at discussion for an hour. Schlatt, you know as well as I do that they are starving out there, and we cannot sit by and do nothing. We simply do not get enough money from the shows to cover what the outskirters need. And those people out there, out in town, they have the coins we don’t and they do nothing. We’re going.”

The other men nod their heads. Schlatt thought for a moment, thinking of the sick children, of the starving in the camps a hundred feet from the cabin where they sit. “You’re right. I just do not-”, he sighed for a moment, making eye contact with you. “I don’t want you to do this just to spite Theodore.”

✩⭑✩

“But I cannot, I cannot go on simply watching you from afar like we are children again. I love you. Please. Please.” Ted looks at you, manic, his chest heaving, feeling like the world had suddenly been deprived of oxygen. His hand is outstretched. “T, I am going to ask you this once before I respond. Is it true you’re going to be sheriff?” you whispered, your eyes watering.

“Mr. Nivison? Look at him. Theodore! Are you listening?”

He snaps out of it, pushing the conversation to the back of his mind. It wasn’t important anymore. The governor stood in front of him, chuckling. “Son, you were lost in thought there. I was worried I had chosen the wrong young man for sheriff for a moment.”

Ted shakes his head. “No sir, I’m the right man for this job, I promise. Just had the briefest of distractions. Won’t happen again.” The governor lets out a hearty laugh, clapping Ted on his back. “I hope not, Theodore, you were highly recommended for this. Welcome to your first day, son.” The governor motions to someone to open the door of the jail. They do, and a young man in spectacles with a mustache enters. “Theodore Nivison, meet your new deputy and right hand man, Edward Burback. We moved him here from the rising Los Angeles. A bit larger than Red Oakland, which means this will be a cakewalk for him.”

Eddy sticks a hand out, and Ted shakes it. “I go by Eddy.” “Ted.” The governor gives a satisfied nod, patting them both on the back. “Well gentlemen, welcome to your new post. I’m sure we’ll be very satisfied with the two of you at the helm of the law,” the governor says, getting ready to take his exit. A man runs in, half dressed. The three men turn, looks of bewilderment crossing their faces. Ted stands up, rushing to help steady the stumbling man-Mr. Barker, the owner of the largest general store in Red Oakland. The man, panicked, takes a large, heaving breath, the sweat streaming down his face. “I’ve just been robbed.”

The governor gives one last abrupt nod. “Well gentlemen, I’ll leave you two to it.” He leaves, getting in his carriage.

✩⭑✩

“So describe what happened to me one more time, Mr. Barker,” Ted sighs, pushing his glasses up. “It’s as I told you boy, this young lady, she was on the side of the road injured, covered in mud, and as I got out of my carriage to assist her, these two young men held us at gunpoint, their faces were covered by their bandanas, they took the coins from my carriage, another comes out of the bushes to steal my clothes, threw me into my carriage, and then dragged the poor miss off, kicking and screaming. They took the poor girl, you must find her.” Theodore nods. “And you said it happened 3, 4 miles from town?” Eddy asks, scribbling things down in his notebook. Mr. Barker groans. “As I said before, yes.” Eddy continues to write, before closing his notebook and tucking it into his coat pocket. “Ted, we should go to the outskirts and ask questions, look around.”

Ted turns his head to Eddy, looking down for a moment, before stating “If we must, Deputy Burback.”

✩⭑✩

You rip the wig off your head, before bending down to the water bucket and scrubbing your face as clean of mud as you could, scooping up water to rinse your face. The boys move around you, tucking their bandanas into their pockets and cleaning their hands. The five of you enter the house, where Charlie sits. He looks at the five of you. “How did it go?”

“25 dollars. How much can that get us?” Hasan drops the bag onto the table, looking at Charlie expectantly. Charlie runs the numbers in his head. He was the “doctor” for the outskirters, often having to tend to the sick and weary of the camps, doing it for free. Even looked after animals too. The five of you just had to buy the medicine yourselves, unfortunately. “I could get quite a lot of bandages. Maybe a few vials of morphine, if we don’t need to spend it on anything else.” You shake your head. “There’ll be other carriages,” you mumble, pushing the bag to Charlie. “You just buy what you need and do not worry about it. Focus on the people outside who need us.”

Schlatt groans. “As much as I think Mr. Barker deserved to get robbed, and the other fancy, money grubbing fucks deserve it, maybe we should count our blessings and stick to one and dones. Hasan is building his reputation as a sharpshooter. We could travel. Do shows. Get the money honestly. We don’t need Theodore on our backs, sniffing us out.”

“We don’t do enough shows for that, Jay. We don’t make enough farming. We can’t afford more cattle. The people need us,” you grit your teeth. “But Theodore-“ You dismiss Schlatt with a wave.

“Ted-Theodore, isn’t important. He’s one of them. He turned his back on us. Fuck him. We are outskirters. We were raised by these people, damn it. And we are going to do right by them.”

✩⭑✩

“They aren’t going to talk to us, you know. The outskirters. They don’t trust us. Call us the townies.” Ted turns to Eddy, as their horses trot side by side. “You say that like you know from experience. Thought this was your first day.”

“I grew up there. Leonard Preacher Orphanage. I got adopted, age 15, by a townie banker. A lot of people live on the outskirts, and can't afford to go anywhere else. A lot of orphans ended up staying after…the orphanage burnt down.”

Eddy looks around at the makeshift shelters, the torn tents, the worn down cabins. He felt guilt. “And they don’t like us?” “Think we are the ones keeping them that way. They can’t afford to do anything and spend their lives in poverty, and they think we only uphold the law to those with the money... We’ll start with Charles Dalgleish. He’s the closest thing they have to a doctor from my understanding. Maybe he treated one of our gunslingers this morning or overheard something, he’s almost always home.” Ted slowed the horse in front of your cabin. His heart was thrumming in his chest so loud, he worried Eddy could somehow hear, his pulse so apparent to him in that moment. He was lying if he didn’t purposely choose your cabin first in the hopes you would be home, and in fear that perhaps, you were the young lady dragged away. He wasn’t even aware of standing there, frozen in time, until Eddy reached over him to knock.

Charlie calles out, “You can come right in.”

The men enter, and Charlie is bandaging a little boy’s elbow, wrapping it carefully in cloth before ushering him down from his perch on the table. He looks up, a bit surprised to see Ted and Eddy standing there. “Sheriff Nivison. And I’m sorry, you must be…?”

“Deputy Burback. You can call me Eddy, if you’d like.” Eddy extends his hand. Charlie shakes it, before bending down to address the young boy. “Next time, be more gentle, alright? Now go back to your teacher.” He shoos the boy out the door, shutting it gently.

It becomes apparent to Ted in the ten years since he was adopted that he never had stepped foot in this cabin. It was small, with two cots, two makeshift beds on the floor, and a wood stove. There was another room, where he imagined the last two beds were. He looks around at the log cabin, and imagines how life would have been. Sharing a home with the men he once considered brothers. Sharing a home, of course, with you. Maybe you would have married him then.

His thoughts are once again interrupted by the third time that day, with Charlie clearing his throat. “How can I help you gentlemen?” he asks, packing away his medical supplies in a makeshift cabinet. “Well Charles, Mr. Baker, the one who owns the large General on Main, he was robbed about two miles from here.”

“Robbed? Really?” Charlie tsks, scooping some water to rinse and scrub his hands. “We wanted to see if you know anything. Heard anything. Maybe someone came in injured, Mr. Baker managed to hit the foot of one of the assailants,” Eddy chimes in.

“No, no one other than that little boy has been by. I’ve been home all day.” Charlie smiles at the two of them. “And what about the others?” Ted asks. “How many people live here?” Eddy asks.

“Five men, myself included. I was here, sorting my things. Hasan and Schlatt have been in the back, practicing a sharpshooter act. Hasan is making a name for himself, earning some money at shows. Kurtis and Ludwig are tending to the garden. And the lady, she teaches. She’s been with the outskirt children all day. I believe the littles are learning their letters today.”

Eddy’s eyes furrow in surprise. “A lady, she lives here? With all five of you? Unmarried?” Charlie nods, “She sleeps in the room next to us, shares the bed with Hasan. We cannot afford separate beds. We cannot afford to live alone.” He then turns to look Ted in the eyes. “She'll, of course, marry one of the five of us one day, when she’s ready. It’s always been the six of us.”

Ted felt sick. He nodded at Charlie. “Thank you Charles. Perhaps we shall check with the others.” He and Eddy exit the cabin, and he shakes his head. “We should ask around different homes. Perhaps they will know something,” Ted says, as he walks past the side of the cabin, looking out beyond their gardens, peering out at the rows of shelters, tents, and cabins. And then…there you were. You were sitting in the clearing, surrounded by the children. And for the first time that day, he smiled. Ted saw you, and he smiled.

#ted nivison x reader #charlie slimesicle x reader #jschlatt x you #jschlatt x reader #hasanabi x reader #hasan piker x reader #if you push me hard enough i can make it into a love triangle i am easily convinced #yeah she shares a bed with hasan…in like a platonic way I promise #i am sorry #I’ll try to do better #I threw some angst in for good measure #don’t get the blues

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wexhappyxfew · 2 months

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very thought of you

(a/n): judy rybinski, my sweet sunshine child, you deserve the very best for all the emotion you hold in and try to hide. enjoy your dance with rosie rosenthal girl <3333

She found that nights after missions, the flying club was usually left pretty quiet.

Of course, there was soft jazz from the corner, a few people sat around talking quietly with one another, sharing drinks, or tired conversation, but it was never alive with life like it had been in the summer - when people had still been fairly filled with something more than life.

Judy sat at the table her and Bessie had occupied a few times when people would be on the dance floor, twisting and twirling one another like it was the night of their lives. She always would watch - the airmen with a lady from town or a nurse or a Clubmobile girl, the smiles on their faces, their giggles, the whispering and exchanging of jokes or conversation there in a tightly-held embrace.

She always wondered what that would be like - wrapped in the arms of someone, to dance with them, gaze into their eyes, and just for once, have it just be the two of them. Whoever that other person may be.

A few of the girls hadn't bothered to come tonight - some of the recent happenings were seemingly getting to everyone. With the fresh losses of Major Cleven, Major Egan, Brady, DeMarco, their crews and just about every other notable face they'd flown in here with, some people were doing better than others. Some just wanted to be left alone, others came to have a drink, make conversation, some sat and read or smoked or stared at the sky.

Judy had to get out of the barracks and be in some fresher air with some of the men - Dougie usually was always a good face to have around, Ev Blakely a comforting shoulder. Crosby was usually around, but he wasn't taking Bubbles' loss too well either. They seemed to all be picking up the pieces of what was lost. And it wasn't going entirely too well.

Judy sat with a Coca-Cola, straying a bit from the idea of a beer - she just couldn't enjoy the thought of a beer as she sat alone at a table, staring out towards an empty dance floor. The idea was almost haunting - enjoy beer, while Major Cleven and Major Egan were MIA or dead? The thought was almost too much.

So, she sat alone with her Coca-Cola and enjoyed the quiet hum of the music and the half-written letter to her siblings and parents back home in North Carolina and was content with that for the minute.

Leaning her head on her upbent arm against the table, she glanced towards the entrance and was surprised to see Lieutenant Rosenthal coming through the doorway, removing his peak cap, a small smile on his face, tired eyes wandering the group, before moving towards the bar. His fort had taken some pretty hard hits after the mission today - the first back from R&R, which had been quite enjoyable as it was just his crew and Silver Bullets. The few conversations they'd had there hadn't been much. Just in passing, or he'd offer her a wave if he was on the grounds. But he'd been in another world it seemed, his head in the sky, body on the ground.

And so now, seeing him after all their first missions back, she would've thought he'd be out with his fort or asleep.

Seeing him here, she smiled a bit.

Judy glanced back to the empty dance floor, a soft crooning Ella Fitzgerald song above her as she let the music take her a bit.

"I was beginning to wonder if any of the Silver Bullets were going to make it out tonight," she heard a voice say and she slowly glanced upward to find Lieutenant Rosenthal there, a Coca-Cola in his own hand and a smile on his face, "mind if I join you?" Judy froze for a moment, her brain rewiring it felt, before she nodded and sat up a bit.

"Of course, sir." she said, "Please." She nodded to the other seat at the table and he sent her a quiet gaze, before settling down in the chair and turning his head her way.

"You doing okay?" he asked her, "I've been meaning to check in on Annie, but….." Judy watched him for a moment, his comforting eyes something that drew her in that very instance and it made her feel like she could say anything in her mind, right to him and he'd understand.

"I'm okay," Judy said quietly, "just….had to take time out of the barracks. Lieutenant Bradshaw's…..she's….." Judy's words trailed off in a pathetic attempt to cover up what Annie was really feeling. The dark circles under her eyes, the sleepless nights, the night-wandering, the mornings they'd find Annie outside, sat on the step, out-cold from exhaustion.

"It's okay," Rosenthal said, "I'll talk to her later. I know people aren't feeling the best in the past few weeks. What about you?" Judy looked to him and offered an impromptu smile his way.

"Alright, sir." Judy said, and then nodded, "Best I can. I guess you could say, I'm trying to keep going, keep smiling….for the others." Rosenthal smiled and lightly tilted his head toward her.

"I think that'll be good for everyone in the long run," he told her, but then leaned against the table and lowered his voice, "but, truly, you don't have to do that for me." Judy stared at him, her heart pounding, her emotion building somewhere in her head, behind her eyes and she saw that look on his face and knew that things were coming to a head.

"You okay?" he asked her quietly, and that's when her eyes welled with tears.

There was something about people like Major Cleven, Major Egan, Captain Faulkner, Lieutenant Bradshaw and now…Lieutenant Rosenthal. They were people Judy trusted with her life, because they were all some of the best leaders the 100th would ever see in her mind. And they were people that cared about their group, their men, their fort, people that wanted the best and would lead the best they could for the bettering of the group.

And usually, they could manage to get Judy's water-works going.

Because they saw her in a way others didn't. They cared. She put up her walls, put on the smile, and continued like that. Day in and day out. And without fail, those walls would get battered and bruised, and she'd be standing behind it, barely keeping it up, tears in her eyes, limbs shaking. And that's how she was right now - like Lieutenant Rosenthal could see right through to her.

Judy watched him with tears in her eyes. Then, she watched his hand slowly reach forward and grasp one of her own, lazily laid upon the table, his larger hand encasing her own in a warm, consoling embrace. She sniffled and watched through blurred eyes as his thumb gently brushed against her rough skin - between the gloves and the machinery in the ball turret, her hands had seemingly taken the brunt of it all.

Yet, his touch was present and there and grounding her in a way in that very moment that nothing else seemed to be. She wished she was stronger than this sometimes. But maybe she'd been strong for too long. Something in her head told her this didn't mean anything - his touch, him looking at her like that - but then the tiny voice in her head said something else, something deeper. That it meant everything.

"Here," he said, reaching into his pocket and producing a handkerchief.

"Thank you, sir," she said, taking it, through a rather tearful admission of thanks and he smiled at her and grasped her hand a bit tighter.

"No need to thank me," he said, "and….it's just Robert…or Rosie. You don't need to call me sir." She stared at him, and then managed a slight smile and nodded. She wiped at her eyes and then let out a weak sigh and looked to him. He watched her tentatively as she tightly grasped the handkerchief, and stared at their hands there on the table.

It was quiet for a few moments, him staring at her, Judy looking at their hands, a quiet reprieve settled between the two, the two of them letting the other take a moment to just be. 'The Very Thought of You' by Billie Holiday slowly moved through the quiet bubble of noise above them and she glanced towards Rosie who was sat quietly, staring now at their hands, his frame more relaxed, more silent, but still there.

"Hey, Rosie?" she asked him quietly - he looked up at her and offered a small smile.

"What's up?"

"Do you want to dance?" she asked him - it came out quicker than she had wanted, and sounded a bit more like a jumble of words, and she could feel a bit of a flush crawling up her neck. But then Rosie smiled.

"I'd love to," he said, "here." He slowly stood, taking her hand and came around the table, before taking her other hand and pulling her to her feet. For a moment, they watched one another, before he backed towards the open dance floor, Billie Holiday's voice soft and nostalgic over the speakers, as they stood in the center of the floor.

And slowly, Rosie's hands traveled to her waist, his other hand lacing into her own, as he brought her closer to him. Judy looked up into his eyes, his presence so close to her own - God, his aftershave was overwhelming every portion of her being by this point and she wasn't complaining. Judy could hardly get her arm around his neck and instead rested her hand on his arm and then looked up at him.

"I'm sorry for my sweaty hands." she said, the first thought to come to her mind. And Rosie let out a laugh, and shook his head and brought his lips to her ear.

"It's alright," he said quietly, "you ever dance before?" Judy's heart was racing at the sudden closeness and let out a shaky breath. She turned her head the slightest bit to his ear and licked her lips.

"Not like this." she whispered back. Rosie laughed, his warm breath on her shoulder as he slowly swayed them back and forth, taking the lead just as she would've wanted. This was unfamiliar territory to her, every bit of this. But it felt comfortable to be in his embrace, having his touch and presence so close to her own.

"Just follow my lead." he said quietly to her. She was so much shorter than him, it was almost comical - a ball-turret gunner and a pilot who was nearly a full head or two taller than her - she could barely keep on her tip-toes. But, he guided her softly in the middle of the floor, as the song continued, the two of them wrapped in each other's warmth there in the middle of the floor.

And as the song came to a close, Judy found her arms wrapping around his center, her chest pressed in his chest, her head turned into him, listening to the soft thrum of his heart, the gentle thump-thump-thump the comfort that kept her grounded there right now. His hand found its way to her back, the other lingering between her shoulder and the lower portion of her head.

She felt so comfortable curled against him, like she were able to hide from the world for a bit in the middle of this war. Smelling his cologne, feeling his hands holding her there against him, listening to his heart deep within his chest.

When the song had finished, and it melted into a Frank Sinatra piece - something Marianne would've appreciated - she found herself tightly bound in his embrace, not wanting to let go of this block of comfort she was now holding onto so tightly. And he seemed far from letting go, rubbing his hand up and down her back, pulling a few strands of her loose hair from her braids from the right side of her face and circling a thumb on the upper portion of her shoulder.

They stood there for a few moments, Judy simply soaking in this feeling - him standing there, her curled against him. Her eyes welled with tears when she seemed to come to it - this feeling. Being here with him. Rosie letting her just be like this. She was so tired, drained and worn down - everything about her had been exhausted to an extent where she was dumb. And Rosie's warmth seemed to be melting every bit of that about her.

"Thank you." Judy whispered just quietly enough for Rosie to hear her, "Thank you so much." Rosie chuckled, the soft rumble in his chest, making his heartbeat speed up a bit, which made her smile as he rubbed her back a bit more comfortingly than he had previously. She could tell he was smiling when he spoke.

"Didn't know you were a Billie Holiday fan." he said quietly, "I should've asked what you liked." Judy laughed slightly, blinking away some of the tears and leaned back a bit to look up at him and was met with his fully, rosy-cheeked face watching her, his eyes exuding nothing but what felt like…..damn-near love in her own eyes as he watched her.

"Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald, Doris Day…." she said quietly, "Ma's a big fan of them. What about you, though - heard you were an Artie Shaw type of guy - big band. Makes sense." Rosie let out a laugh that was music to her ears and nodded.

"Big Artie Shaw fan," he said, "guess stuff gets around." Judy laughed and nodded.

"Marianne knows a whole lot more than we credit her for." Judy said and Rosie smiled at her, this silent unspoken message between them saying a whole lot more than whatever words could bargain for - finding comfort in someone else who was going through this hellish war just like you were. It was something that you carried closer to you more than anything else.

Judy smiled up at him, and the quiet look on his face was something you couldn't replicate, this intense focus simply on her, watching her every move, concealing yet telling all at once. Her cheeks felt like they were completely flaming now as he watched her, but she couldn't look away from his gaze.

But then Judy, out of the pureness of her heart, stood to her tip-toes and pulled him into a hug, where his arms enveloped her and they held each other there for a moment in time. A hug meant a thousand words more than anything else in that moment.

#yeah they make me distraught #THEM!!!#judy makes my heart break at the best of times and she deserves this !!!#judy rybinski #rosie rosenthal #masters of the air #mota #mota writings #silver bullets #rosie rosenthal x oc #i know i saw fluff but then it turned to angst and now we're back to fluff #a whole rollercoaster #enjoy these beans!!! :D

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